


Dialogue

by KiKi_the_Creator



Series: Tumblr Stuff & Prompts (LITG) [4]
Category: Love Island (Video Game)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:21:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27242602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiKi_the_Creator/pseuds/KiKi_the_Creator
Summary: Compiled dialogue prompts from tumblr.
Relationships: Hannah/Main Character (Love Island), Marisol/Main Character (Love Island)
Series: Tumblr Stuff & Prompts (LITG) [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1960831
Kudos: 18





	1. Dumped

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I might never get another chance to say this."
> 
> From [this dialogue prompt list](https://kiki-the-creator.tumblr.com/post/633045055127666688/50-dialogue-prompts)
> 
> From [ @bubblelaureno ](https://bubblelaureno.tumblr.com)

‘Marisol and Graham, please pack your things and get ready to leave the Villa.’

Marisol stands frozen, staring at the letters on her screen, disbelieving and not wanting to believe. It doesn’t make any sense, how could it be over already? It’s too soon, it can’t just be the end, not now. It’s - it’s not fair! She never got a chance - she never took her chance…

Graham’s arm wraps around her shoulders, attempting to pull her into his side in some sort of comforting gesture that really isn’t necessary, least of all from him, “It’s alright, babes. Let’s just -”

She shrugs him off, ignoring his words with eyes still trained on the light flowing from her screen. She keeps her eyes on those printed letters so she doesn’t have to meet the haunting ones that she knows are staring at her, and turns, striding into the Villa for the last time. She marches into the dressing room, fighting against the tears building behind her eyes as she grabs her suitcase, heaving it across the room out of frustration, a crash sounding as it hits the wall.

Her face is contorted, a perfect picture of anger and hurt as she grabs whatever clothes she can find, throwing them in the direction of her case and ignoring the rest of the world, including her partner somewhere in the Villa that she wishes she didn’t have to worry about. She scoops products and bottles into her arms, striding over and dropping them on the pile of clothes, not caring if they break or shatter or spill, not caring at all.

A knock sounds on the doorframe, “Hey,” a familiar voice greets, a low hum from across the room. And Marisol wants to run to it, to wrap herself in it for all of eternity and forget the rest of the universe. And then she gets even angrier, because she could have, she could have all this time, but she’s an idiot and a coward and she ruined everything.

“Hey,” she greets back through a clenched jaw without looking; she doesn’t know what would happen if she did. She folds a shirt just to keep herself occupied, staring at the fabric intensely.

Violet walks further in the room, stopping at Marisol’s side, “Want some help?” she offers, her voice pitching up as she crouches down next to Marisol.

Marisol shakes her head, hair flying as she jumps up, nearly running across the room to put space between herself and Violet. She grabs a pair of her heels that sit nearby and faces the wall, swallowing thickly to steady herself. She takes a brief moment to slow her pounding heartbeat before hesitantly walking back to her case, eyes downcast.

“You sure?” Violet stands to meet her, towering over her with concern stitched across her features.

Marisol’s eyes snap shut and she drops the shoes on the pile of mess. She drags her hands through her hair and heaves a deep breath, “Look…” she turns to face Violet, hands falling to grip her arms as she takes in the crease between her brows and the frown on her lips. “I might never get another chance to say this, but I have to. I really, really have to, okay, Vi?” Violet nods slowly, encouraging Marisol even as confusion flickers across her face.

“Okay…” Marisol sucks in another breath, her chest rising and falling until she can get the words out. “It should have been you,” she forces out. “It should have been you, from the first day, even. And - and I tried to ignore it, but I can’t, not anymore. It’s… it was you and I’m just the biggest idiot,” she laughs self-deprecatingly, “I’m the biggest idiot and I’m so sorry, but I just… I need to tell you before I never see you again. So…” she steps back, letting her hands fall back to her sides as she awkwardly rolls up on her toes, heels crashing back to the floor. She smiles nervously, fidgeting with a bracelet and turning back to her suitcase, tossing in and organising her clothes.

Violet stands frozen, watching Marisol anxiously glance out of the corner of her eye as she shoves fabric into her case, nearly trembling as her nerves skyrocket inside her small frame. Violet steps forward before she knows she’s even moving, slipping her arms around Marisol and pulling her into her embrace. She settles into her hold, turning enough to bury her face against Violet’s shoulder.

They don’t separate, they don’t move closer, they simply stay frozen for a long time, until a shuddering breath shakes Marisol, kickstarting her muscles into action as she coils her arms around Violet, fisting her hands in the fabric of the back of her dress. “I’m so sorry,” she whispers against her.

“Don’t be. It’s okay,” her voice husks. “Let’s just get you packed right now, okay? You’ve gotta go with Graham,” the taller woman murmurs into ombre hair.

Marisol shakes her head, pulling back enough to collide their dark eyes, “No. No, it’s not okay. I don’t want to go with him - I don’t want to go at all - but definitely not with him. I - I should have listened to you and I’m sorry,” she insists, her voice dipping low.

Violet’s hands rise from around her body to cup her face, “I know, and I get it. But we can’t change things, okay? So let’s just get through right now.”

Marisol nods reluctantly, the tears she’s been fighting since the text finally starting to escape. She buries her face against Violet again to hide them, arms tight around her waist and sniffles sounding from her. Violet rubs her back, fingers weaving in her hair as Marisol works to stabilise herself.

She pulls away after a moment, wiping under her eyes to clear them of the few strays that escaped and pulls in a deep breath. She looks up at Violet, offering a small smile of reassurance, before finally turning back to her suitcase. She kneels down, grabbing clothes and folding them, tucking her shoes in, and securing her bottles and containers of products.

Violet joins her on the floor, sorting through the pile meticulously, passing each item to Marisol once she folds them. It’s quick work, which is almost a depressing thought, that after all the time spent here, all the memories and drastic changes to her life, everything can fit into a small suitcase, folded up tight.

She zips it shut when they finish, but she doesn’t stand. She stares at the closed case, every heart-racing second of the Villa, every reality-shattering moment, every world-ending revelation is held within something so mediocre and inconspicuous.

Violet’s hand lands on her back, tracing slow circles on her spine, “You okay?”

She forces herself to nod, to stand, to grab the handle and to walk out of the dressing room for the last time. She forces her feet to move, to lead her to the bedroom where Graham’s sitting, waiting. Violet’s palm finds her shoulder, squeezing before she leaves her to join the others at the front door, offering a comforting smile before turning away.

Another deep breath fills Marisol’s lungs before she steps inside, grabbing Graham’s attention. He looks over, smiling when he sees her, “You ready to go?” he stands, taking hold of his bag.

She forces a smile, “Yeah,” and a nod, turning before he can even join her. He rushes to catch up, slinging his arm around her shoulders again, and she forces herself not to react, not to cringe away from him, but she still can’t force herself to lean into it, to embrace it.

The others are gathered by the door, talking quietly amongst themselves. Violet’s with Henrik, her head bowed as he says something to her, his arm around her back and his mouth by her ear. It almost hurts Marisol, to see her so comfortable with him, even after that brief moment in the dressing room.

But she supposes she has no right to judge, not after everything she’s put Violet through. Not after Graham and Rocco, not after ignoring her and leading her on. Not after she refused to accept the truth, to put herself out there, to just be honest for once.

“Well!” Graham calls, pulling all eyes to him, and Marisol can’t force herself any longer; she steps away. She doesn’t run or cringe, but she puts enough distance to relax, to avoid his touch. He doesn’t seem to notice or maybe doesn’t care, spewing some more words that she can’t hear until everyone’s swarming them with goodbyes and farewells.

Marisol’s focused on the floor, unable to register the words falling from everyone’s mouths, and only reacts when Graham starts walking forward. She follows, her eyes still downtrodden as her steps lead her closer and closer to a final goodbye.

Arms wrap around her before she can leave for good, squeezing tight as a face buries in her hair. “I’ll see you soon, yeah?” that familiar voice hums in her ear, and she falls into it, finally. Finally, leaning into the body around hers until she has to force herself to walk away.

But she feels lighter, like maybe she’ll end up with another chance after all, like maybe this isn’t the end she thought it was, like maybe she finally took her opportunity.


	2. Mistakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "That wasn't supposed to happen."
> 
> From [this dialogue prompt list](https://kiki-the-creator.tumblr.com/post/632839361585627136/random-dialogue-ideas-12)
> 
> From [ @bubblelaureno ](https://bubblelaureno.tumblr.com)

Marisol has made a lot of mistakes in her life. She’s rear ended another car, she’s dropped her phone in the toilet, she’s failed a few assignments, and she’s forgotten her best friend’s birthday. She makes mistakes, just like anyone else, from something small like forgetting her favourite pen in a lecture hall to coupling up with the wrong people for weeks on a reality show. She makes mistakes, so what? It’s not a big deal.

Well, okay _sometimes_ it’s a big deal and maybe right now just so happens to be one of those times.

“Oh my god, Marisol!” Violet shouts, her arms flying around her in exasperation, “You can’t just -” she drags her hands through her hair, “You can’t just _ghost_ me for a week! And then get pissed when I’m pissed!”

“I told you, I didn’t mean to, I was just busy!” Marisol shouts back, her eyes on her cutting board as she slices fruit for a smoothie. She’d never admit it, but Rocco’s in the Villa got her curious to try out different recipes.

Violet laughs coldly, “For a whole week?! I texted you like a hundred times and didn’t get a single response! The only reason we’re talking right now is because I travelled for _two and a half hours_ and showed up at your door!”

“Yeah, and I didn’t ask you to do that!” Marisol dumps sliced bananas and strawberries into the blender.

“You haven’t asked me anything in over a _week!_ ” Violet stares at the back of Marisol’s head as she avoids looking at her.

“I was busy!” She adds a few chunks of ice.

“You were ghosting!”

“Why would I ghost you?!” She adds the lid of the blender.

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out!”

“Well there’s nothing to figure out! It was an accident, okay?!” She hits the blend button, drowning out Violet’s voice behind her until the blades relent, silence resuming.

“No, it’s not okay,” Violet forces her voice low, “We live hours away from each other and can only talk over the phone. That doesn’t work if you don’t pick up the fucking phone!”

“It was a fucking _accident!_ ” She untwists the cap of the milk and pours it in, the liquid splashing along the chunks of fruit and ice.

Violet lets out some combination of an exasperated groan and a strangled, frustrated scream as she lets her head fall to Marisol’s kitchen counter, her hands in her hair as she stands frozen, her heaving breaths the only indication that she’s even alive. “Marisol, if you want to break up, just tell me. I’m not playing games.” Her voice is steady, calm despite the previous shouting match as her words come out muffled against the counter.

“ _What?_ No! We’re not _breaking up!_ ” Marisol finally turns to stare at her hunched form in disbelief.

Violet sighs, still slumped against the marble, “Will you tell me why you ghosted me then?”

Marisol huffs, “I didn’t fucking ghost you!” She hits the blend button again, the blades whirring to life and… shooting smoothie all over the kitchen, making a massive mess of the counters and cabinets and floor, fruit splattered everywhere. Marisol slaps the button with everything she has, successfully turning off the blender and stopping the onslaught of mashed ingredients.

She turns slowly, meeting Violet’s gaze, their eyes wide and surprise painted across their faces, and a lot of smoothie on Marisol’s, too. “Well… That wasn’t supposed to happen.” Neither say another word for a long minute, the tension building… And building… And building…

Until it explodes through laughter, Violet doubling over and clutching her sides, Marisol shaking as it rips from her chest, echoes filling the flat. They laugh and laugh until their throats hurt, until their gasping for breath and clinging to the counter just to stay upright. Smoothie chunks are in their hair, staining their clothes, making the floor slick as they laugh some more.

Violet steps forward after she finally catches her breath, careful not to slip, while Marisol still chuckles softly, a smile finally gracing her messy lips since Violet arrived. Violet’s long arms wrap around Marisol from the side, the shorter woman falling into her with a sigh. Violet’s face nuzzles into ombre blonde hair, her fingers tucking loose locks behind Marisol’s ear and picking out fruit chunks, flicking them across the room.

Marisol takes a deep breath, “Look, I am really sorry that I ignored you, it’s just…” she sighs, Violet’s nail scratching the hinge of her jaw. “The long distance thing is really hard, _vida,_ ” she confesses. “And I just - I needed a break but I didn’t know how to say it. Because I really do love you, I really do, I’m just awful at only texting for five minutes at a time and studying together on FaceTime when we’re both swamped and exhausted.”

Violet hums above her knowingly, encouraging her to continue, as her thumb on Marisol’s side brushes up and down. “I like when you’re here, and it’s so different when you’re not. So I’m sorry, but I think something needs to change. I can come up more often, or I can try and match my schedule better or -”

“I’ll move,” Violet cuts her off. Marisol’s eyes go wide, her lips parting as her head falls back to gaze up at Violet in shock, finding a droplet of smoothie on her forehead. “I’ll move here,” she repeats. “I’ve been thinking about it anyway, and if you think long distance isn’t working, then I’ll move. I don’t mind,” she shrugs nonchalantly.

“Are - are you sure?” Marisol pulls herself from her grasp, hands gripping Violet’s forearms as she desperately works to confirm if it’s real, “It’s a big thing, you know, and I’m not asking you to -”

“I’m sure,” Violet cuts her sentence off again, nodding with a calm expression on her face. “And I’ve done it before, you know,” she grins down at Marisol, the corners of her dark eyes crinkling with her soft smile. “I know what I’m doing, _amor,_ and I also know you’re not asking. I want to. I don’t like long distance, either, not when the only person I have in Northampton is my _tía_ and she won’t mind, anyway,” she reassures.

Marisol’s eyes fall from Violet’s, staring at her shirt as she considers carefully. She darts forward, burying her face in the crook of Violet’s neck as her arms coil around her waist, Violet wrapping her own arms back around Marisol. “I swear I’ll never ghost you again,” she murmurs into her neck.

Violet laughs, and pride wells in Marisol’s chest, “It’ll be harder when we’re in the same city.”

“Same flat,” Marisol corrects, determined for it to be real.

“Yeah? You - you want me in your space?” Violet sounds uneasy, like their previous discussion never even took place.

Marisol leans back again to meet her eyes, “Obviously.”

Now Violet’s the one to tackle her in a hug, her arms around Marisol’s shoulders tight as she laughs into her ear, oblivious to the mess covering Marisol, who laughs back the whole time. They cling and laugh as the sun sets, the dark cloud that flooded the flat when Marisol opened the front door to Violet disappearing as they clean up the mess of smoothie and change, Violet stealing some clothes that are slightly too small.

They spend all night talking, making plans, looking up how difficult it’ll be for Violet to transfer her uni credits, calling her _tía,_ who has to have an entire conversation with Marisol in Spanish to confirm that she’s good enough for her niece. They fall asleep on the sofa, tangled up in each other’s limbs and blankets, content and peaceful.

Three weeks later, Violet moves in with Marisol, credits transferred and everything. They spend all weekend unpacking her stuff and reorganizing the flat, eating pizza and watching movies surrounded by cardboard boxes and stacks of books, textbook, clothes, everything they still need to find space for in the small flat.

Marisol has made a lot of mistakes in her life. She’s cut herself with a box knife, she’s spilled shampoo all over the bathroom floor - twice - she’s missed a due date because someone fell asleep on her, and she’s ghosted her long distance girlfriend. She makes mistakes, just like anyone else, from something small like leaving a dirty plate in the kitchen sink to mixing up the colours on Violet’s laundry and staining everything. She makes mistakes, so what? It’s not a big deal, not when Violet lets her fix them.


	3. Me and You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm not going anywhere"
> 
> From an anon, I can't find the list right now

It’s late, the sky dark tonight with clouds and a heavy downpour, the moon and starlight no longer mingling in the night sky to illuminate the few people still roaming the streets at this hour. Street lamps provide a path towards safe haven and the pavement’s damp beneath stragglers' feet as they hurry home or to work or wherever they’re required. Rain drops slide down window panes, thunder rumbles in the sky and lightning flashes between closed curtains as people hide from the night and its downpour.

Violet and Marisol are curled up together in bed, sleeping soundly and ignoring the storm. At least, Marisol is, with her arms wrapped around her pillow and the duvet falling down her torso. Violet’s coiled in a tight ball, sheets and duvet abandoned as a nightmare races through her mind, echoes of the thunder outside rattling against her skull.

She’s always hated thunder, it’s always startled and scared her, even though she knows it’s nothing but a sound. But it’s a sound equivalent to the world splitting open and the clouds lead a charge against humanity. It’s a sound that rattles your bones and shakes the walls, a sound that can rock the world and everyone in it.

Violet’s always hated the power that thunder holds, it’s always scared her and panicked her. It’s always given her terrible nights of sleep and horrifying nightmares that she can’t explain, all she can understand from them is a constant feeling of dread and terror.

And tonight’s no different, the faintest flickers of comprehension only fanning the flames, the few scraps of a story line irking her, sending her stomach into knots and her mind into anguish.

She startles awake, gasping right as thunder crashes, trembling the walls of the flat, rattling the bars of Violet’s protective cell, attempting to break through to her. She fumbles upright, glancing around the room and taking in the drawn curtains, the dark shadows, and Marisol dead asleep beside her, her back to Violet.

She’s always loved storms, loved the rain pattering on the roof and loved the smell of the world when she steps outside. She’s always loved the excuse to stay inside, the excuse to curl up with a blanket. She’s never minded thunder or lightning, always seen them as harmless additions to her favourite weather.

She’s never been afraid of the power they hold, it’s never even been a worry to her. It’s never kept her awake at night, only provided white noise to drift off to sleep and cycle through unintelligible dreams to, dreams that travel through fragments of memories and random amalgamations of colours and sensations.

Violet falls back to the headboard, her knees pressed into her chest as she stares into the dark, working to slow her rapid breathing and her pounding heart. Her forehead falls to her knees, her back rising with every shaking breath and fingertips pressing into her shins to ground her. Her loose hair curtains her face, only further isolating her from the outside world.

Another rumble explodes from the sky, Violet jumping with it and shaking in her skin, her breathing quickening once again as her hands slide into her hair, gripping her roots and squeezing her eyes shut. She can feel her heart thumping against her ribcage, echoing in her muscles, pounding in her ears mercilessly.

“ _Vida_?” a small whisper asks from in the dark, Marisol looking at Violet’s hunched form from over her shoulder. She struggles upright, scooting close to Violet and pulling her hands from her hair, squeezing them gently, “ _Vida_?” she whispers again.

Violet lifts her head from her knees, meeting Marisol’s eyes that she can barely see in the little light of the room, dark abysses staring back at her. Marisol’s thumbs caress her hands, gentle and delicate before they split apart to brush dark locks out of Violet’s face.

She’s used to this by now, used to calming an anxious Violet and comforting her in the dead of night, the second thunder breaks the clouds. She’s used to being patient and steady when Violet’s spiralling, to being her tether to reality. She’s used to it, she doesn’t mind it, and she almost expects it. If Violet’s eyes never shined with anxiety again, Marisol wouldn’t know what to do, she wouldn’t know what to make of it.

“Do you want to watch a movie? To drown it out?” she asks gently, her hand running circles along Violet’s spine as the taller woman leans into her, her head landing on Marisol’s shoulder, breath brushing her neck.

She shakes her head, settling further into Marisol’s body as she does, quiet for a long moment, the storm filling the silence. “I had a nightmare,” she murmurs, Marisol’s nails scratching at her lower back and tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, her thumb trailing her jaw.

“About what?” Her arms slide around Violet to enclose her in her hold, running her hand up and down her upper arm soothingly. Violet doesn’t answer, simply turns her face into Marisol’s neck, lashes tickling the lighter-haired woman’s skin. “About what, Vi?” she presses the topic, halting her hands and pulling back to try and catch Violet’s gaze.

She avoids it, staring into the dark with her head dipped, a few strands of hair obscuring her features. Marisol brushes them from her face, staring at her averted eyes, “ _Vida,_ what was it about?”

“You left me,” the words come out barely audible, her eyes downcast as her chin falls to her knees, arms wrapping tight around her legs. Not a single emotion passes her face, her expression entirely blank and eyes dark.

“ _Vida. Vida._ Hey, Vi,” Marisol tries to draw Violet’s gaze, but she keeps it focused on the shadows as rain pelts the roof above them and the window across from them. “Hey. Look at me,” she cups Violet’s jaw, forcing her eyes on her, “I’m not going anywhere, okay?” She forces as much earnesty into her eyes as possible, staring into inky black darkness before her.

Violet nods, stiff and hesitant, not believing in the haunting dead of night. Another rumble rocks the flat, Violet falling into Marisol’s arms again as it rages on and on and on, seemingly unending until it abruptly halts. Marisol traces her spine, up and down her back as Violet’s forehead presses into her shoulder.

As the rain against the window retakes its position as the loudest sound in the room, Marisol cups Violet’s face carefully, pulling her eyes level with her own. Her thumbs brush Violet’s cheeks, “I’m right here and I’m not leaving. It’s me and you. It’s been me and you, for over a year now. I love you and that’s not just going to randomly change one night. Got it, _vida_?”

Violet nods, for real now, letting her forehead fall against Marisol’s and eyes flutter shut, “I love you, too.” Her words ghost along Marisol’s lips, light breaths sending shivers down Marisol’s spine, and she darts forward, capturing Violet’s lips with her own.

They break apart slowly, their breath mingling in their close proximity, their limbs tangled together as they fall back to the sheets, wrapped around each other as lightning flashes through the gaps in their curtains and thunder shakes their walls. Rain berates the roof above them, a constant, erratic rhythm as they slowly drift off to sleep in the dead of night.


	4. Wildfire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I want to be your home"
> 
> From [this prompt list](https://kiki-the-creator.tumblr.com/post/633977429706309632/softer-prompts)
> 
> From [@kittidot](https://kittidot.tumblr.com)

Hannah taps her foot nervously, standing beside the snack table at the finale party and watching its attendants dance and drink, laugh and chat. She sips fancy, expensive champagne as her cool, blue eyes scan for one person in particular. She knows she shouldn’t be searching, shouldn’t be bothered, shouldn’t be invested, but she just can’t help it, she can’t help longing to spend the party dancing and drinking, laughing and chatting with this one particular person.

She frowns, turning to her glass and swirling the bubbles inside, watching them twist and spiral, attempting to distract herself from the face that’s been imprinted in her mind since last night, the face that’s begun to haunt her. Maybe it’s haunted her since the first time she ever even saw it, maybe it’s been following her for weeks, sitting in the back of her mind and slowly driving her insane. That’s worse, isn’t it? If there was never even a catalyst to spark these ridiculous feelings, they just appeared along with that face, no explanation, no justification.

Is that more or less romantic? For one small spark to light a fire after weeks of peace, of ignorance, of nothing worth noting, or for an explosion to ravage the forest right from the start, unapologetic and unforgiving? She downs the last of her glass, turning to steal a refill and downing it too, before grabbing one more.

Bright blue eyes turn back to the party, searching for the match that’s burnt her insides to a crisp. Spark or explosive, slow build or instant heat, it still burns the same, it still chars her heart, fills her lungs with smoke, and clouds her mind with a thick, heavy haze. It still wreaks havoc on her entire world, still turns her reality to ash, and still disintegrates the future she had imagined for herself.

Now, all she can imagine is _her._ All she can picture is a world in which she’s there, lighting match after match and discarding them on the forest floor. A perfect reality in which she’s burning dry leaves to a crisp and the dry brush beneath her feet into cinders, embers that flicker and fly until they reach bark, until they grow and grow, engulfing wood and sending smoke to join and mix with the clouds softly shifting above the party.

And then she finds her, sees her standing with that lighter of a smile, carelessly letting it’s flames lick at everything within sight, carelessly letting it burn the branches surrounding Hannah, even from across the party, even from metres away. Yet, that’s not the end, far from it as she carelessly lights dynamite, her green eyes landing on Hannah’s and the flames from her lighter somehow growing a fraction of a millimetre alongside her smile, just the smallest, most miniscule, barely noticeable increase sending Hannah’s heart racing, fanning the flames raging inside of her.

Those green eyes break from blue, turning back to the man beside her, her red-stained lips murmuring something that Hannah longs to hear, just to listen to the smooth molten metal she knows is falling from them. She huffs, dragging a hand through her red locks, locks that once seemed like the brightest fire she would ever encounter, but are now a flickering spark, a dying ember on pavement as opposed to everything inside of her, everything in front of her. She turns, scanning the table before her for something to occupy her time, to suffocate the flames lapping at her ribcage.

She heaves a deep breath, but it does nothing to quiet the wildfire burning and scarring her, potentially even fueling the flames, potentially letting them grow and grow, their smoke nearly choking her now. Every cell in her body shrivels under the heat, every centimetre of her skin is bright red, flushed from the excessive temperature. She takes a biscuit, biting into and staring at the tablecloth, praying for release from the forest fire that’s destroying her without care.

“Hey,” molten, dripping, red-hot magma sounds from behind Hannah, spilling into her ears and down her neck, a trail of ash in its wake. She turns, meeting those gorgeous green eyes that promise life, that promise refuge in rolling hills, that promise something other than fire and ash, smoke and burning red.

“Hey, Clover,” she chokes through the fumes clouding her throat, feeling the way it coats her airways and tasting the way it settles on her tongue as the words escape from her lips.

The lighter’s flames explode before her eyes, metres and metres tall, tall enough to burn the clouds swirling in the sky above them, dark in the night. “How’ve you been?” she beams. “I mean, I know it’s only been a day, but, uh… y’know,” she averts those promises of life, those promises of more, turning them to the lawn beneath their heels, her cheeks turning neon, fiery as heat flows from them.

Hannah’s own face is burning, no doubt hot to the touch as she nervously chuckles, “Yeah. Um, I’ve been good. Congrats on the win,” she smiles, as steady as she can, even though her desire to run from the flames before her is slowly growing along with them.

Clover beams, her smile scorching and boiling as it collides with Hannah’s skin, “Thanks! I didn’t really expect it but, y’know, it’s pretty amazing.” Her eyes are hypnotic, drawing Hannah in with the promise of plentiful existence and boundless nature, just for her smile to roast her.

“What are you going to do with the money? And what about Carl and his share?” Hannah inquires gently, the thought of them spending it together collapsing and melting her heart, lava flowing over her ribs as she forces a smile to hide the caving of her chest.

Clover’s head tilts, her lips twisting as she considers carefully, “I don’t know about Carl, but I was going to donate most of it. Maybe start fostering dogs with my free time,” she grins, teeth alight with sparks.

And Hannah beams right back, because of course that’s how she’d spend it. Of course she’d spend it helping others and providing safety, just like the shining gems that are her eyes. Only her smile falls away an instant later, “We, um, we should probably talk about last night, right?” she turns to the drink in her hand, swirling the liquid within and crossing her free arm over her chest.

Hannah’s throat bobs as she swallows thickly, working to steady herself and ignore the smoke in her throat as she awaits Clover’s answer, “Yeah, I, uh, probably.”

“So, I don’t -” she sighs, forcing her eyes to meet those green pastures, those beautiful safe havens, “I just - I know how you look at him. And how much you care about him. I really do get that and I know this won’t change anything, but just - I don’t know,” she groans weakly, turning back to her drink and mumbling, “This was stupid. I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m really sorry.”

“No.” Flowing lava drips from red lips as her fingers wrap around Hannah’s wrist, blistering and searing the skin beneath her palm, “Tell me, Han,” she urges softly. “I need to know. Please,” the heat in the lava’s disappeared, turning to rock, strong and steady as it beats against Hannah’s protective walls, crumbling them with ease.

“I - Do you know how you look at him?” she glances up, feeling fire surrounding her, smoke filling her lungs as a layer of ash settles on her skin.

Those promises of life dim, confusion and concern mingling as her thumb unconsciously brushes along Hannah’s wrist, every pore she touches lighting with embers. She shakes her head softly, looking to Hannah for an answer, an answer she doesn’t want to give, an answer that may finally quell the flames, but in the worst way possible.

She swallows the pile of ash that’s settled on her tongue, “You - You look at him like he’s your entire world, like he’s your favourite place, like - like he’s your home, all cozy and familiar and comfortable,” she begins, drawing herself to her full height, urging the flames circling her to wait just a minute more before engulfing her entirely.

“Han, what -?” Clover starts, cocking her head as her brows furrow in confusion.

Hannah shakes her head to cut her off, to speed up the process of killing the life held within her perfect green eyes “I need to just - Please,” she begs softly.

Clover nods, letting her continue, those green eyes refusing to die, sparkling with life inside her head. They shine in the minimal light surrounding them in the night, neon lights reflecting and glittering within them. They draw Hannah in to the point that she doesn’t even remember the dozens of people around them, the music that’s pounding from speakers, the drink in her hand, the entire Villa disappearing as she falls into the world held within those green eyes.

The ash that filled her throat is gone along with everything else, the words flowing easier than ever before, soft and quiet, “He’s your home and your happy place and - and I want to be that for you… I want to be your home, Clo, I want to be that happy place…” she nearly whispers the confession, relishing the momentary freedom from fire, the fresh air that fills her lungs, the sight of the world not obscured in an orange haze.

Until it sparks again, Hannah’s heart providing the catalyst this time as flames break from the organ, beating fast and hard, licking at her already wounded body, “But I know I can’t be and this was a stupid idea and I’m really sorry, I’m just gonna -” she pulls back, breaking the hold that green now has on her, and turns to run, to retreat into the crowd and drink until she forgets what she’s done, or until she succumbs to her burns, neither of which should take too long or too much at this point.

Clover’s cool hand slips into hers, lacing their fingers together gently as Clover looks at her softly, delicately, pulling her back before she can get too far, before she can forget that captivating green. Her touch is cool and calming, precious and soothing as her perfect eyes alleviate the burns covering every centimetre of Hannah’s body, “Let’s talk, okay?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliffhanger on this one, lemme know if you want a resolution and I'll make this it's own


	5. Nightlights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Come back to bed"
> 
> From [this prompt list](https://kiki-the-creator.tumblr.com/post/633977429706309632/softer-prompts)
> 
> From [@swimmingshoebakerydreamer](https://swimmingshoebakerydreamer.tumblr.com)

Moonlight glints through the open window, the tiniest breeze flitting into the quiet bedroom, a few sounds of the city slipping in with it. It’s familiar, a constant for the pair held within the room, predictable and expected as Marisol scrawls away at paper, the scrape of pen on parchment soft enough to not be heard.

But her presence, or lack thereof, is still noticeable to Violet, wrapped tight in the duvet and twisting on the mattress. Her eyelids flutter open, the empty space before her prompting a frown to twist her lips. She sits up, the duvet still around her shoulders as she glances about the room, finding Marisol at their desk with a small lamp light illuminating her in the dark, a nightlight that has often provided refuge from the darkness and everything held within. 

“ _Cariña?_ What are you doing?” she rubs the sleep from her eyes as she speaks, squinting to make out her partner’s features.

“Working.” It’s short and to the point, distracted and mildly irritated. And Violet almost wants to smile at just how unsurprising everything’s become, in the best way imaginable.

But that urge falls away as she catches moonlight sweeping across the room, at the no doubt incredibly late hour, “On what?”

“A case.” She scribbles some more, tossing a paper aside and retrieving another.

“What time is it?” Her legs swing off the side of the bed, her arms pulling the duvet tighter around her torso as a chill breeze squirms its way into the room, goosebumps breaking across her skin.

“Two.”

She squints, stifling a yawn, “In the morning?”

“No, it’s afternoon, that’s why you can see the sun.” Not even a drop of inflection, her words sarcastic and monotone, annoyed and occupied.

Violet sighs, “ _Cariña,_ why are you working?”

“I need to get this done.” She tosses another paper, repeating her justification for working through dinner once again, a justification that’s slowly wearing on Violet.

“You need sleep, _amor_. Come back to bed. Please, Marisol,” she forces as much desperation into her tone, knowing it’s worked in the past, knowing it has so often proved to be Marisol’s seemingly one and only weakness.

“I have to finish this.” Her jaw is clenched, teeth gritted as the words escape the prison of her mouth, slipping through the bars.

Violet sighs, stands from the bed, and joins Marisol at her desk. She steps behind her, wrapping her arms around Marisol’s shoulders, the duvet draping over them and her mouth close to her partner’s ear, “Come back to bed. You can do this later.”

“No, I need to finish it tomorrow.” She attempts to shrug Violet off, but she’s resilient, only tightening her arms around Marisol and leaning even closer.

“Then finish it tomorrow,” she murmurs, her head falling to Marisol’s shoulder, watching moon and lamp light play off her delicate features, watching them swirl together to reflect in her eyes and provide shadows as contours.

Marisol meets her gaze. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

Violet tucks her nose against Marisol’s neck, letting her breath brush her skin, “I’ve already dragged you to bed once tonight, don’t make me do it again, _mi amor._ ”

A sigh is her only response, Marisol turning back to continue annotating and working to ignore the girl collapsed against her.

“Or I’ll just fall asleep on you,” she forces a yawn, nuzzling into Marisol’s shoulder further to emphasise her point.

Another sigh, Marisol’s head falling back to stare up at the dark, shadowed ceiling, her hair tied up on her head. “You’re not leaving me alone, are you?”

“Nope,” Violet hums, pressing her forehead to Marisol’s neck and letting her eyelashes flutter closed, listening to Marisol’s soft breathing and feeling the heat radiating from her, even in the cool night.

“I really do have to finish this, though. You already cost me time earlier, I can’t put it off anymore.” The street’s lights play across the ceiling, yellows and oranges from headlights and light fixtures, warm in comparison to the cold, chilling glimmers of haunting moonlight.

Violet slides her hands down Marisol’s arms, effectively wrapping her in the duvet she dragged with her, “They’ll understand. You’re not much help if you can’t stay awake.”

Marisol’s lips dip in a soft frown. “That’s what coffee’s for, though.”

Violet chuckles softly, lighting up the room better than Marisol’s dim desk lamp, “I love coffee more than most, _cariña,_ but even I know it can’t keep you up for days and days. Come back to bed,” she murmurs one last time.

“Coffee fixes everything.” There’s humour back in her words, a teasing lilt quirking the syllables as she glances to Violet’s closed eyes, her soft expression, and the growing smile on her lips.

“Then try not to get broken, _che?_ ” she whispers, her voice slipping away from her as consciousness leads the way into familiar but different darkness from the one settled around their bedroom.

Marisol’s carefully painted nail flicks off her desk lamp, and she stands, gently pulling Violet along before settling her back on the bed, collapsing beside her as Violet holds her arms open, eyes still shut tight. “Only for you,” she whispers against her collarbone, letting Violet wrap around her and trap her from her work that she really should be finishing right now, and her artificial light that really should be on right now.

But maybe she can forget about them just this once, just this once she can let the night’s own lights illuminate her.


	6. Pinky Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Is something bothering you?"
> 
> From [this prompt list](https://kiki-the-creator.tumblr.com/post/632839278470283264/question-ideas-11)
> 
> Asked by [@bubblelaureno](https://bubblelaureno.tumblr.com)

The Villa’s filled with shouts, laughter, and conversation this afternoon, a somewhat lazy day for once. A recoupling was announced for the next few days, but somehow no one seems particularly bothered, or at least they’re not showing it. At most, an unspoken tension has settled across the lawn, spurring the need to relieve it and distract from it. So most of the Islanders have elected to enjoy the weather and the free afternoon, with Violet happening to be one of them.

She walks over to the daybeds, finding Marisol and Priya settled on them, laughing and chatting softly amongst themselves as they watch the chaos occurring by the pool, the boys yelling and playing with floaties and pool noodles. She drops beside them, smiling kindly in greeting at Priya as she settles next to her, legs folded before her and fingers tapping at her ankles. She observes the pool, most of the boys flapping about and splashing water along the concrete, the pile of water bottles and phones close by, and on Lottie and Chelsea chatting by the edge. Chelsea giggles loud enough for the women on the daybed to hear, ringing the water from her hair as she does, while Lottie huffs sharply, standing and stomping angrily inside as water drips from her skin and hair.

Priya sighs, pulling her hair over her shoulder and combing her fingers through her reddish locks as she stands, “I’ll go make sure she’s not about to hurt anyone,” and starts for the Villa. Before she steps inside, she glances back to the pair still sitting, smiling apologetically to Violet as she follows Lottie inside.

Violet scoots closer, filling the gap Priya’s just left behind with a grin, nudging Marisol’s shoulder playfully, settling back to enjoy the sun. But Marisol doesn’t react to her at all, her hands knit together in her lap and back ramrod straight.

She avoids Violet’s gaze, her coffee eyes on the boys shouting in the pool, unseeing as they watch Gary splashing Chelsea. Violet inspects her carefully, privately praying Marisol will meet her gaze and smile, and frowning as it becomes more and more evident that she won’t. “Is something bothering you?” she asks gently.

Marisol doesn’t respond, her jaw clenching as Henrik cannonballs, Gary shouting ‘My turn!’ as he follows, Chelsea’s giggles still floating over to the pair on the daybed, her blonde hair damp from the antics.

“Marisol?” Violet nudges her shoulder again, her frown only deepening as she still doesn’t receive an answer, the body next to her stiff with muscles tensed. “Marisol, what’s wrong?” she asks softly again, imploring coffee eyes to meet her own dark chocolate swirls.

A frustrated sigh breaks from Marisol, her lips finally moving, “Nothing,” she answers tersely, still avoiding Violet’s gaze as she scowls at the air before her, scowls at the fun occurring in the water.

“Marisol,” she prompts sharply, frowning over at the girl staring into the distance, avoiding everything to do with her. “Marisol,” she prompts again, sharper this time. “Marisol,” one last jab breaks the dam.

Marisol inhales sharply, sucking in air between her teeth, “Do you fancy Henrik?” she spits out through a clenched jaw.

Violet’s brows crash together, her entire posture shifting as she moves further into Marisol’s line of sight to better scan her face. Her jaw is dropped in disbelief, lashes blinking as she short circuits and she fumbles for words, “…No?”

“You don’t sound convinced,” Marisol responds sharply, jaw still tight and expression furious as her hands clench in her lap. She fumbles and fidgets with her fingers and the jewelry resting on them, knuckles turning white as remains tense.

Violet gapes at her, “No!” she nearly shouts in frustration. “I - I am,” she forces her voice lower, “I’m just… surprised, I guess?” she looks at Marisol, still baffled and unsure where to take the conversation, but luckily she doesn’t need to decide.

“Why?” Marisol’s voice is harsh, hurt as she masks it with anger and irritation, “Because I noticed?”

“Because you’re jealous for no reason,” Violet answers, not quite as harsh, but plenty frustrated as she stares at Marisol’s features, still urging coffee to spill into chocolate.

Marisol shakes her head stiffly, numbly, “I’m not jealous,” she denies.

“Yes, you are,” Violet challenges.

Marisol’s lips twist as she sneers, “No. I’m. Not,” she spits again, venomous and toxic.

Violet sighs, “Look,” she starts, attempting to cool herself and resolve the tension that’s quickly grown between them, “whether you’re jealous or not, I don’t fancy Henrik. At all.” She throws as much - into the words as humanly possible, and then some.

“You don’t?” Marisol finally meets her gaze, her head whipping to find it and her eyes wide in shock. Her entire demeanor has shifted in half a second, and she watches intently as Violet’s lips slowly raise in an amused smile.

“I don’t,” Violet shakes her head to confirm, before an unabashed grin now breaks her lips, “Pinky promise,” she holds up her pinky finger challengingly, daring Marisol to take it.

Marisol looks at her in confusion with a furrowed brow, searching her features and hand cautiously, “What?”

“Pinky promise,” Violet wiggles her pinky finger in front of her face in a terrible explanation, while her expression suddenly turns serious, “It’s sacred. I’d never make one if I didn’t mean it.”

Marisol’s lips quirk on the edges, “Good,” and hooks her little finger on Violet’s, meeting chocolate confidently for once.

Violet beams, dark chocolate crinkling with it, and squeezes the finger looped around hers tight. She watches Marisol slowly relax, her finger still trapped by Violet’s, “Better now?” she asks, soft and gentle once more.

Marisol nods and Violet releases a huge sigh of relief before falling back to the duvet, finally releasing Marisol’s finger as her arm crosses over her stomach, “Thank God, I was so worried. I thought I did something awful.”

Marisol lets out an unbridled laugh, flopping back beside Violet, their arms brushing lightly as they stare up together, “No, I’m just a bit of an arsehole.”

Violet frowns, turning to poke her in the side and meet her vibrant eyes, her palm cupping the side of her head as she looks down to Marisol. “No, you’re just a bit jealous ‘cause you like me,” she smiles proudly.

“Yeah, yeah,” Marisol rolls her eyes, but she smiles all the same, turning onto her own side to meet Violet, her arm tucked under her head with only enough space between them for their arms to rest.

“Hey! We got a text, everyone!” Priya shouts across the lawn, shattering the bubble that’s slowly built around them. Violet falls to her back, looking over to the Villa to see Priya hanging out of the kitchen, looking across the lawn expectantly. The pool explodes, the boys jumping from the water and Chelsea scurrying over with them, their shouts echoing across the entire lawn. Violet sighs, launches forward, and turns to Marisol, offering her a hand.

She takes it, pulling herself to her feet just as Violet turns away, already striding over to the others in search of the text. Marisol has to rush to catch up, jogging to join Violet again before slowing at her side, her legs moving quicker to meet Violet’s long strides. Their hands brush against each other as they walk, the last ones outside as the others stand gathered in the kitchen. Marisol turns, smiling up at the taller woman beside her sweetly before locking their pinky fingers together, Violet beaming like the sun down at her in response, squeezing the finger in hers once again.

They don’t break their fingers as they arrive, as Ibrahim reads a text, as they file inside to get ready for the recoupling that’s been bumped up. They only break their fingers apart when they have to, but the promise from within them isn’t broken.

Even as Henrik couples with Violet, even as Marisol’s chosen last again, even as the Islanders nearly break into a fight, Violet’s promise isn’t broken. But Marisol’s new to pinky promises, she’s new to every assurance and definite Violet possess, and it takes her a while before she makes another, before their fingers lock together again, swearing the world to one another.

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr - [kiki-the-creator](https://kiki-the-creator.tumblr.com)


End file.
